All He Can Think
by Sue Snell
Summary: Rule63!Cas AU. Dean has no idea when he stopped wanting to get into Cas's pantsuit and started thinking of her as the last family he'd have left if Sam stayed gone and something happened to Bobby, but he knows now that's exactly what's happened, and all he can think is, "You can't die tomorrow."


**Inspired by this prompt over at the SPN Kinkmeme: spnkink-meme . livejournal 105174 . html ? thread=39938006#t39938006**

oOo

"See that bottle up there? _That_ is a Last Night on Earth kind of bottle." He fishes his wallet out of his pocket and hands it to her. "Go get it. I'll stay here and save our table."

The bar is uncomfortably crowded, so table-saving is a definite necessity, and he figures Cas has a better shot than he does at getting the overworked male bartender's attention. Twenty minutes ago he learned she's never been drunk once in her millennia of life, and he doesn't know it takes a whole damn liquor store yet, so he figures the bottle he pointed out—a comically-oversized container of whiskey hanging over the bar that's more for decoration—oughta do it. If she really does die when they confront Raphael tomorrow, at least it'll be with one more thing crossed off her bucket list.

"Wonder whashe's hidin' unner tha' coat, huh?"

"What?" Dean looks up to see some drunk douche plopping himself down at his table like he thinks he owns the place.

"Carmen Sandiego over thar." The drunk points, and of course it's at Cas, like there'd be any other gorgeous girls in trenchcoats hanging around.

"Carmen's trenchcoat is red, dumbass."

"I'd paint'er coat white, ifyaknowutI'msayin'…"

Oh, so he's _that_ drunk, wow. There's about a hundred sarcastic responses Dean could come back with, but weirdly enough he doesn't feel sarcastic right now. He feels pissed.

"Ya know what I'm sayin'?" the drunk repeats earnestly.

"Shut up," Dean replies, fists clenching.

"Wha's _your_ problem, buddy? She your sister or something?"

Or something, sure. Yeah… The revelation hits him hard. He has no idea when he stopped wanting to get into Cas's pantsuit and started thinking of her as the last family he'd have left if Sam stayed gone and something happened to Bobby (too easy now, with him in the chair. He reminds himself for the third time tonight to give him a call once they're done with this Raphael business). He knows now that's exactly what's happened, though.

"Yeah," he says aloud, "She is, and as her brother I happen to know you ain't her type. Got it, 'buddy'?"

He's a lot bigger than the douche and doesn't have to stare him down long to make him go away. When Cas returns with her Last Night on Earth bottle and a couple of glasses, all he can think is, _You_ can't _die tomorrow_.

Even though she downs most of the bottle herself she still drinks him under the table. He wakes up with a hazy memory of hearing last call and trying to stand, only to stumble into her arms instead. She scooped him up like he was nothing but a ragdoll and carried him out, to the loud, giggle-snorting delight of the bar's other patrons. He tells her she can never mention this to anyone and though she doesn't understand why, she gives him her word.

oOo

It takes him a full second to process what he's witnessing in the dark corridor as the hellhounds growl beyond the door, and another second to decide it most certainly is _not_ turning him on.

His first instinct is to yank Meg off of her, just pick her up and _throw_ her as far from Cas as possible. The kiss alone was already crossing the line, and now she has the balls to throw in a chest-grope? They part before Dean can put his demon-tossing plan into action, and then the real shock comes: Cas throws Meg against the wall, gets in a grope of her own, and sticks her tongue down her throat like she's an old pro at lesbian makeout sessions.

Dean gives Sam his best _"What the actual hell?"_ look and Sam shrugs, looking surprised, but mostly irritated that they're wasting time. Soulless creep. _Real_ Sam would be freaking out right now, Dean's sure.

"What was _that?_ " Meg breathily demands after they part for the second time.

Dean looks to Cas, wanting an answer himself.

"I learned that from the cheerleaders," Cas informs them, and Dean makes a mental note to have a look through her browser history later.

"Well… A-plus for you."

Dean sees the way Meg looks at Cas when they leave her behind to take on the hellhounds, and all he can think is there's no freaking way that can end well.

oOo

"Look me in the eye, and tell me you're not working with Crowley."

It hurts to see her trapped in the circle, treated like one of the things they hunt, and it hurts to listen to Sam and Bobby hurl accusations at her. But what hurts most of all is when she can't meet his eyes. His stomach churns, and all he can think about is her and _Crowley_. What the hell did he even say to her, to talk her this far off the reservation? How long did it take him to convince her, and why the hell didn't she come to him during that time instead? Did he make her kiss him to seal the deal?

"I think I'm gonna be sick," Dean says, looking away, at anything but her.

"Let me explain."

"You're in it with _him?_ " Dean still can't look at her. "Going after Purgatory? _Together?_ This whole time."

"I did it to protect you. I—"

" _No_ , Cas." He can't do this, can't stand around and listen to her excuses like he hasn't heard them a thousand times already: Raphael this, civil war that, the end of the world all over again, but does she ever let them in? Let them _actually_ help her fix any of this? Of course not. Because apparently she'd rather go to the King of Hell than dick around with mere mortals when it came to the _important_ stuff.

The rest of the argument passes in a red blur, Sam doing most of the talking. Dean can tell his brother isn't taking it well either. When Cas says she's the one who busted him out of the cage he almost asks if she brought him back soulless on purpose but stops himself, even now unable to say something that awful to her. Or maybe fearing the answer. It's a bitter mercy when the demons arrive and they're forced to flee without her. How the hell did it all get so screwed up so fast?

Dean's thought a lot about killing Crowley over the past few months, but now he wants it more than ever.

oOo

Cas and Charlie take an immediate liking to each other when they're introduced. Cas cures Charlie's carpal tunnel, Charlie declares them besties, and Dean can tell Charlie's damn impressed with Cas's vessel of choice; the look on her face probably isn't far off from the look _he_ had when he first met Cas.

"Wow," she whispers when they get a moment apart from her.

"Right?" says Dean with a laugh.

"I guess there's no way I'm lucky enough for her to be into girls? I mean—hey, whoa, is something wrong?"

Suddenly all he can think about is Cas's face when she found out what happened to Meg.

He mumbles something about Cas having had her heart broken before and Charlie's smart enough to get he's not talking about a bad breakup. This discourages her at first, but then they all sit down to dinner and after a few drinks she's grabbing Cas's knee under the table. Cas looks pretty pleased about it, and it feels damn good to see her happy for a change.

Weeks later she doesn't come to Charlie's "funeral," can't bring herself to watch her burn. Maybe seeing a soul banished to Heaven is just a little too much when you're no longer welcome there yourself.

oOo

He comes back to his motel room after rescuing the girl from the vampires. She wasn't very grateful. Maybe she'd have felt luckier if she knew he had the Mark, understood what it was, how it'd hungered for her blood too.

When he goes to clean himself off and looks in the bathroom mirror he sees not his face but Cas's, bruised and bloody. He remembers the warmth of the angel blade's hilt in his palm, remembers wondering what it would feel like if he just went ahead and _did it_ already. Did an angel's grace burn on its way out of a vessel, the same way it cooked demons inside their meatsuits when it came time to smite? Would the blade scald his hand, as if in admonishment for the evil he'd committed? He remembers wanting to find out—the _Mark_ wanting him to find out—but there was—barely—enough of him left to stop himself.

He sees her face in the mirror and all he can think of is all the times he's tried to protect her: From humans, from demons, from heartbreak. He feels like he's failed her more often than not, and hell, maybe that was almost okay before; she's a big girl—Angel of the Freaking Lord—and knows how to take care of herself. But the one thing he should've been able to protect her from—the one thing he _needs_ to—is himself.


End file.
